Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I grip the curtain fabric so tight my knuckles start to ache.
Just keep it cool until you get inside, I think, hoping Nix will feel the good energy headed his way through the swarm. Hold tight until I close the door behind you, and then you can unleash every bit of your very righteous fury. Just a few more minutes, Bay. Just a few more…
The sedan parks as close to my driveway as it can get with all the news vans in the way, and Baylor steps out.
He’s wearing a dark hoodie over maroon workout shorts and a baseball cap pulled low. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ground as he fetches his gear bag and travel duffle from the trunk and starts for the driveway.
My chest tightens with a mixture of worry and relief.
He looks massive. Gorgeous. And exhausted.
The reporters surge around the sedan, likely scaring the poor driver half to death as they shout—
“Baylor! Is Beatrice inside?”
“Did you force her to cancel the tour?”
“Do you have a comment on the kidnapping allegations?”
Shoulders inching higher, I brace myself for whatever comes next. Telling them to “fuck off” would be completely understandable. Unwise, but understandable.
But if he pushes a reporter or tosses a camera…
He sets his gear bag down on the grass at the base of the porch, sending my shoulders the rest of the way to my ears. But when he pushes his hat brim higher, revealing his face, he doesn’t look like a man on the verge of stroking out.
He looks weary, disappointed, like a tired father dealing with unruly toddlers.
He raises one hand, palm out, and the swarm silences, waiting with bated breath and poised mics as he says, “Good morning. I know you all have a job to do. I understand that.” His voice is deep, steady, sending a wave of relief through my tight muscles as he continues, “But what’s happening here isn’t news. It’s a fabrication designed to hurt my family that we’ll be clearing up through the appropriate legal channels. That’s all I can say at this time.”
“What about the claim that—”
“That’s all I can say at this time,” Nix repeats, collecting his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Then he smiles, a cool, boundary-setting smile that makes me so proud I can hardly stand it. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my girlfriend’s azaleas. If you step on them or cross the property line again, I’ll have no choice but to call the authorities.” He winks before adding, “Or turn on the sprinklers. And I think we all know water and cameras don’t mix.”
A few of the press cluster actually chuckle.
Then, they step back! They retreat like scavengers shooed away by an apex predator, and Nix didn’t have to raise his voice a decibel.
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my chest for hours and head for the front door, flipping the lock with shaking hands.
The moment I step out onto the porch, cameras flash, but I don’t look their way. My eyes are all for this man, my man. When Nix sees me, the “calm and collected” mask slips for a second, revealing the mortal man in crisis beneath, but my arms are already twining around his neck.
I hide the crack in his façade with a kiss.
A real kiss…
A deep, focused, promise of a kiss. It tells Nix that I’ve got his back, but it’s also my statement to the press, my flag planted in the ground.
I am Charlotte Delaney, pillar of the fucking community, and I stand with this man wrapping his free arm around my waist and holding on like I’m the only solid thing left.
The flashes keep coming—so do the shouted questions—but I don’t care. I kiss him until I’m damned good and ready to stop.
Then, I pull back just an inch, resting my forehead against his as I whisper, “Welcome home. That was perfect.”
He exhales. “Thanks.”
“Now, let’s get you a coffee.”
“And a shower,” he whispers with a soft laugh. “I came straight from the gym. I probably smell like a ripe animal.”
“But you’re my ripe animal,” I tease as I take his hand, holding tight as I lead him inside.
The moment we’re behind closed doors, the energy shifts as we both relax into real reunion mode.
Nix leans back against the heavy wood of the door, dropping his bag with a rush of breath. “Shit. What a fucking morning.”
“I know,” I say, brow furrowing with concern as I cup his tired face. “We heard about the suspension. The news broke while you were in the air. I’m so sorry.”
He winces, but before he can reply, Beatrice shouts from behind us, “Bay, you’re back!”
She comes running into the foyer from the kitchen. She changed into black jeans and a vintage band T-shirt earlier, but her hair is in a messy knot and her face is pale and make-up free.